


blood you owe

by brittany4824



Series: no time to die [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Related, F/M, Flashbacks, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Post-Battle of Hogwarts, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Veela Draco Malfoy, Veela Mates, no physical cheating, not quite Ron bashing but... not exactly pro-Ron either, she’s with Ron at the beginning but not explicit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 22:27:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29766537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brittany4824/pseuds/brittany4824
Summary: He’s trapped himself in a lifeless mansion.She’s determined to show him what he has to live for.But when things aren’t what they seem, Hermione is faced with the impossible: lose everything she’s built or lose the man she’s grown to love.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: no time to die [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175657
Comments: 85
Kudos: 89





	1. the job

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Thank you everyone who is here and taking a chance on this story! I am so excited to write for Dramione!
> 
> If you haven't already, you can check out the prologue to this story. It's a one shot and can be found [HERE](https://archiveofourown.org/works/29613207) . While you do not have to read it, I would highly recommend it! 
> 
> I may update the tags as this thing goes, so make sure to always check them just in case!
> 
> xoxo,  
> Britt

> PLAYLIST:
> 
> “No Time To Die” - Billie Eilish
> 
> “champagne problems” - Taylor Swift
> 
> “Dark Times” - The Weeknd ft Ed Sheeran
> 
> “Fix You” - Coldplay
> 
> “Issues” - Julia Michaels 
> 
> “Hold Me While You Wait” - Lewis Capaldi
> 
> “Young God” - Halsey
> 
> “Can I Be Him” - James Arthur
> 
> “Scars” - James Bay

  
  
  


**— CHAPTER ONE —**

  
  


_ “Because I could not stop for Death – _

_ He kindly stopped for me – _

_ The Carriage held but just Ourselves – _

_ And Immortality.” _

Hermione woke with a gasp, a hand to her heart. She glanced quickly beside her to find Ron still blissfully asleep and relaxed slightly. Dreams, or perhaps nightmares, of a boy quietly reading poetry had been plaguing Hermione for weeks, and she was quite unnerved about it. She couldn’t tell anyone, because the moment she told her friends who exactly the subject of her dreams was, she would be deemed insane. Because the boy who read Muggle poetry was never someone who would be caught dead with Muggle poetry outside of the little corner that they had shared for a few months all those years ago. While they had formed some sort of friendship (one that had been splintered by the actions of the desperately broken boy), he hadn’t been a good person. And if she had to guess, he wasn’t a good person now. People would question why she was dreaming about him, and she wouldn’t be able to admit there had been secret nights where she had thought she’d seen his true soul. 

Licking her dry lips, Hermione eased out of the bed, and headed to the kitchen to fetch a glass of water. She knew trying to go back to sleep now was pointless, as she’d tried many nights to return to sleep, only to find her mind too preoccupied to do so. So instead, she sat at their small kitchen table and drank the water that had been enchanted to stay perfectly cold. Absentmindedly, she ran her hands over the cracked wood of the table. It told the story of many meals shared with people she loved, and drunken game nights that ended in laughter. But none of those memories were quite strong enough to rid her of her latest dream. Rather than dwelling on her dream, she began to mentally make a to-do list for the day. 

She had a meeting with the director of Magical Creature Affairs in regard to a new case that popped up in France. Her boss hadn’t been willing to go into any detail in his quickly scribbled note that had come by owl just after dinner, but Hermione was intrigued what it could be about. She was one of the leading case managers in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. She worked a variety of cases, most located within the United Kingdom. It was rare that she travelled outside the UK, but when they received international cases, Hermione was always one of the first people assigned. Being one of the Golden Trio meant that she was known throughout Europe, and the Ministry felt people would trust her. Once she had to help settle a divorce settlement that involved a house elf. The poor thing was being torn in half by its two masters, one residing in England and the other in Germany. 

Frowning, she hoped that it wouldn’t be anything as trivial and frustrating as that case had been. Though she loved helping magical creatures, she found that it furthered her belief that there needed to be a serious change in their society regarding magical creatures. Even the department name had Hermione cringing with disgust. Just because they were not human species did not mean they were second rate citizens— though laws made it clear the government thought so. In part, Hermione had joined the Ministry hoping to change that mindset, but had found herself busy with cases, rarely having time to suggest any policy changes. 

She often thought of quitting altogether.

It was a shocking difference from her hopes and dreams following the Second Wizarding War. Harry was immediately welcomed into the Ministry in Magical Law Enforcement, even without completing his N.E.W.T. examinations. Hermione, however, went back to school, taking up Professor McGonagall’s offer to any of her class who wished to finish their last year. Many chose to forgo an “eighth” year, as the government and workplaces were happy to employ those who hadn’t graduated due to the war. But Hermione, being Hermione, had felt a lack of accomplishment when contemplating a future without completing her schooling, and had taken up the new Headmistress on her offer. Ron had laughed, but Harry had smiled in understanding when she had made her announcement. 

The year at Hogwarts was not anything to write home about. She went to school, studied, and took her examinations. But after the childhood Hermione had, she welcomed the uneventful year with open arms. She spent most of her free time reading books she actually enjoyed (she’d found a guilty pleasure in romances) and sleeping. Merlin, she slept as often and long as possible. It had been years since she could sleep peacefully without the intrusive anxiety of what the next day would bring. 

Of course, that year was also when she experienced the worst of her panic attacks. She had learned early on that, to avoid having a panic attack in a public place, she would need to remember her triggers. It was a year of restoring her mental health and trying to figure out where she fit in the new world they’d fought so hard to make possible. 

After she completed her last year at Hogwarts, she was offered a teaching position, but she had refused. Teaching was the last thing Hermione wanted to do. While she loved school, she wanted to move on to bigger things. Like saving the world - though after ten years in the same department in a stale position, it seemed that she wasn’t accomplishing it.

Ron had proposed after five years of dating. Well, that wasn’t entirely accurate. He had proposed each year that they had been dating, but she had told him each time she wasn’t ready. But Ron, being stubborn as ever, kept asking. After the fifth proposal, this time in front of the entire Weasley clan at Christmas, she finally accepted. They all had drunk themselves silly - all but Hermione and Ginny. Hermione because, though she was happy to finally grow up and take the next step with Ron, she wasn’t in the mood to celebrate (something that scared her, but she refused to admit). And Ginny who was, as she whispered the news to Hermione, three months pregnant. Nobody paid the girls much attention, so Ginny and Hermione crashed in Ginny’s old bedroom and reminisced about their childhood. Hermione asked Ginny if she would have ever believed she’d wind up with Harry Potter, having his child. Ginny laughed and shook her head as tears spilled out of the corner of her eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” she had laughed as she wiped the tears away, “I’m just so happy.”

Hermione had felt a pang of jealousy, like she often did while observing her best friends’ relationship. The two of them were absolutely head over heels for one another. They had been since her sixth year. She had always hoped her relationship with Ron would eventually melt into something similar, but she was lucky if Ron remembered her birthday, let alone looked at her the way Harry looked at Ginny. 

But she was happy, she told herself. And that would be enough for her. 

Ten years after the war, they still had yet to tie the knot. He grumbled about it almost daily, until finally he gave her an ultimatum. 

“We’re not getting any younger, Hermione!” he had yelled. It was rare when Ron raised his voice to her, and she knew he was serious when he broke down. “I can’t do this any more. I can’t wait around for you to decide if you actually want to marry me or not. It’s killing me!” 

And she knew he wasn’t lying. She had watched as he’d changed over the years. It seemed that he had begun to walk on eggshells around her, and she knew he stayed out later with friends because he was avoiding coming home. While he wanted to put the blame entirely on her, she felt it wasn’t just her who had created the rift between them. He refused to talk to her about anything important. He had given her career and passion for magical creatures hardly any time of day, and when he did act interested he would try to take over the conversation. She found herself mocked often for her feelings - which was nothing new when it came to him. He had been doing that since they were eleven. Though he was fiercely loyal, she often wondered if he wished he could have been with someone else. 

That night, as her fiance sat in a chair, his face buried in her waist as she held him, she gave in. They had set a date for their wedding, and things went back to normal. He’d even brought home flowers for her on several occasions. 

Just as Hermione had begun to feel excited for their future,  _ he _ began haunting her dreams. It had been years since she had thought of their nights together; now here he was every night, reading excerpts from books to her teenage self in her dreams. It felt like he was mocking her. Laughing at the fact she could even think for a second she could have a happy future after all they’d been through. 

As the dreams came, so did the flashbacks. 

The Malfoy boy and the Malfoy Manor consumed her thoughts and dreams to the point she felt she would need to go to a medi-witch for sleeping and calming draughts. 

Needing to slow her spiraling thoughts, Hermione looked around the silent kitchen. She had begged Ron to get a small place in Muggle London, but he’d refused, saying he wanted to be near his mum. The little cottage in which they resided was a magical cottage that resembled a smaller, cleaner version of The Burrow. She hated it. Somehow, after all these years, it still felt foreign to live like this, and she mourned for the Muggle part of her that had been left behind. 

Like it had done many times before, the enchanted kitchen recognized she was close to tears, offering her a bottle of firewhiskey and a box of tissues. She rolled her eyes at the house’s theatrics, but willingly accepted the firewhiskey. She sipped gingerly from the glass, hating the taste, but relishing the burn it sent down her throat. 

After three glasses, she was happily buzzed, her thoughts no longer controlled by her stubborn will. Her mind wandered back to Malfoy, and she groaned, pressing her head to the cold surface of the table. Just as she was about to stand and attempt to make it back to her bed, she felt a small push on her shoulder, so she sat back down. She looked around, knowing she’d find no one there, but drunkenly wishing there was. Well, one person in particular. 

“Are you okay out there?” she wondered aloud, sighing. She didn’t know what became of Draco after he was pardoned, but she often worried about his well being - which was far more than she should be doing when it came to a Malfoy. 

She again attempted to stand, this time without resistance, so she made her way to the bedroom. Ron was snoring and had rolled into the center of the bed. There was no way she’d be able to get back in without him waking. She found her wand on the dresser, and with a swish her clothes for the day were following behind her as she made her way to the bathroom. It never hurt to be early to work. 

-*-

The Ministry was bustling. Hermione had stopped at her favorite Muggle coffee shop for an Americano and a muffin, and sipped her coffee while she dodged witches and wizards on their way to their offices. Arriving at her own office, she disposed of her trash and sat at her desk. Harry always laughed at the messy state it was in, but it was a chaotic organized, thank you very much. Notes and legal papers were stacked for the day, and she began to sift through them when a knock interrupted. Her assistant, a young man who had graduated from Hogwarts two years previously, popped in.

“Hello, Thomas,” she smiled, going back to the document she had been reading. The centaurs in West Wales had become restless and were not staying on their regulated land, scaring Muggles half to death in the process. 

“You’ve been summoned,” he told her with an air of formality and sternness. If Hermione had learned one thing from her assistant, it was that she was  _ not _ the most wound up person at the Ministry. On the contrary, Thomas was rarely found with a smile; he was all business and absolutely  _ no _ play. Hermione liked to play… she just rarely had the time to do so. She wondered whether her assistant even knew the definition of fun. 

“Now?” she questioned. She glanced at a clock on her wall. She hadn’t been expected for another hour. 

“Now,” he insisted before shutting her door with a click. 

Standing quickly, Hermione checked her appearance in a pocket mirror she pulled from her desk, and saw a very tired looking witch staring back at her. Merlin’s beard, her lack of sleep was catching up to her and no makeup or charm would conceal the fact. On that specific day, she had donned a navy jumpsuit and short black pumps. Her hair was tied at the back of her neck. Though she knew nobody cared how she looked, she was still self-conscious about the black circles under her eyes. 

Knowing there was no use fretting over it now, she made her way to the office of Sir Jacob Ravenson (yes, he was knighted by Queen Victoria herself, he’d told her proudly one day), the excitement of a new case buzzing through her veins. 

She walked in without knocking (Sir Jacob had told her not to knock for it gave him terrible headaches) and found her director smiling at her. His white mustache twitched with amusement as it always did when she burst through his door. 

“Miss Granger!” he bellowed. “Sit, sit, don’t waste the precious minutes of what I have left of living standing around.”

Sir Jacob was also known for the dramatic way he spoke about his age. Then again, he  _ was  _ ancient. 

“You wanted to see me?” she asked.

His eyes twinkled excitedly. “Yes! Yes! A new case in France!” 

“Centaurs?” she guessed. He only ever seemed this excited when centaurs or mermaids were involved. 

“No! No use guessing, you’ll never get it right, my dear.” 

She waited for him to continue, but he appeared to be waiting for her to make another guess so she slowly asked, “... Mermaids?” 

“No, my dear!” he laughed, “I told you not to guess!” He smiled and then spoke again, “There is a male who will not complete his mating bond. It’s caused some nasty things to happen in the poor Muggle town in which he resides. The poor boy is dying, I’ve been told. His mating bond occurred many years ago. I’m surprised he’s lasted this long, if I’m being frank.” 

“A  _ mating  _ case?” she asked incredulously. Usually Sir Jacob detested those kinds of cases. 

“Yes, yes. Much different than what you’re used to, I imagine.” 

He didn’t elaborate, and Hermione knew her boss well enough to not pry. She would get a case file that would fill her in before she left. Truly, she was not all that interested in mating cases. As one could imagine, most of the time the creatures were not the most pleasant to work with. 

They spoke for a few moments longer and then she headed back to her office with a sigh. She would leave for France immediately and would be gone until she was able to convince the male to mate or he ended up incarcerated. Her eagerness for the new case dwindled, and by the time she had left for the evening she was battling a headache.

* * *

Hermione had imagined a sickly creature with sallow skin. She had seen many magical creatures close to death; the scent of death was etched into her memory - the groaning, the sweat, the shallow breaths. Death was something Hermione had witnessed too many times in her short life. 

When a sullen house elf opened the door with a greeting that lacked the normal frantic emotion house elves usually displayed, she had prepared herself for the worst. Even the case file, which was uncharacteristically empty, had indicated the male was near death. 

The house elf bade her in French to follow him to the sitting room, where his master was waiting. She rounded the corner into the room, and felt her breath catch in her chest, because it wasn’t the picture she had expected. No, what she was met with was not the image of death, and the creature she faced was not a creature at all. He was a man. 

His back was to her, but she could see the muscles that covered every inch of his large body. He was taller than an average man, towering over the fireplace he was staring into. But what had Hermione’s eyes widening were the pair of wings that were tucked against his body. They were beautiful— ethereal. At first glance they appeared black, but as the light of the fire danced around them, she realized there was an iridescent green tint to them. If they were this beautiful tucked away, she wondered what they must look like spread and in use. She wanted to step forward and take a better look, and almost did before her professional mind caught up with her. She was here on a job for the Ministry, for Merlin’s sake. 

As she tentatively stepped into the room, she felt a familiar, almost forgotten tug. Her magic hummed in delight with each step she took toward the man. The warm feeling coursing through her was shocking, and she nearly gasped. It felt similar to the day she had chosen her wand at age eleven - her magic igniting, excited. She lifted her hands up as if she could catch the magic in the act, but of course that was silly. 

Whatever was happening would have to wait. She was a professional and she was here on a time constraint. 

_ “Monsieur?” _ Her French wasn’t the best, but she knew enough. She had asked for a translator, but the Ministry had denied her and she was told her French would do well enough. The man stiffened and, if possible, his wings tightened further against him.  _ “Je suis…”  _ she paused trying to come up with the right words,  _ “...  _ here to _ … parler… avec toi?”  _

“Your French is offensive,” was his cold response. 

Again her magic seemed to purr with delight as if to say,  _ Yessss,  _ just as her mind screamed,  _ No! No! No! _

Because Hermione knew that voice. The cadence was so distinctively his. 

“Malfoy?” Hermione breathed just as the man turned around. She had to be mistaken.

The last time she had seen Draco was at Hogwarts the day Voldemort was defeated. She had asked to be a witness for him during his trial, but she was denied. They told her the witness of The Boy Who Lived Twice was enough to get Draco and his mother out of a sentence in Azkaban. 

Harry had been successful. She had wished to watch the court hearing, but no audience was allowed.

Draco and Narcissa had been pardoned; Lucius had been rotting in Azkaban for the last ten years. She had heard Draco and his mother moved to France to one of his mother’s family manors, but she’d never looked into it. She’d been willing to speak for them to keep them from Azkaban, but she didn’t much care to see them again. 

Their faces were in her nightmares. She saw them frequently enough there. 

The thin, frail, frightened looking boy she remembered was not the man who was standing in front of her now, donning a familiar smirk. 

“In the flesh,” he sneered, opening his arms wide. “Why? Didn’t recognize me?” 

She could hear the sarcasm dripping from his words. Her eyes begged to move back to his wings, but she refused to look rattled. 

“I wasn’t informed that it was you.” 

If  _ he  _ had been shocked at her being his case manager, he hadn’t let on.

“That was obvious the moment you attempted to speak in what you called French.” 

She crossed her arms, trying to appear cool and collected, but her thoughts were wild. What in the world had happened to him? How did he have wings? What was he? The ministry had sent her to help a creature who was refusing to mate and was dying because of that. She hadn’t known what to expect, but this was beyond anything she could imagine. 

“I can see the wheels in your mind turning, Granger,” Malfoy spoke, watching her through narrowed eyes. “Why don’t you sit down and we’ll begin the interview?” 

She shuffled, to her dismay a bit awkwardly, toward the chair he motioned toward. It was a large armchair that mirrored the one across from it. She realized with a start that they were built to accommodate Draco’s wings. 

She had to stifle a hysterical laugh. Christ Almighty,  _ wings _ ? Draco Malfoy had  _ wings _ . 

Silently she sat and watched as he followed suit in the twin armchair. With a crack, his house elf appeared with a tea service. Draco took a cup without acknowledging the creature. Hermione, however, accepted the tea with a gracious smile and offered a quiet thanks; the elf bowed in response. 

Finally, her curiosity got the best of her and she allowed herself to wonder aloud, “What happened to you?” 

A dark chuckle was Draco’s response. He sipped from his cup, his eyes never leaving her. She had almost given up hope that he would ever respond when he spoke at last. “Do you remember the time we spent in the library during sixth year?” 

Her cheeks flushed at the memories she thought of more often than she’d like to admit. Those nights had been a small paragraph in her book of life, and she wondered why they consumed her thoughts as much as they did. She’d been certain Draco wouldn’t remember their time together; clearly she was wrong. 

“Yes…” she replied tentatively. 

“Do you remember what you asked me that first night?”

They had spoken many words that night, much more than they ever had before and definitely after what had happened at the end of that year. She wracked her brain at which specific question he was referring to. 

“Let me refresh your memory,” he began after she took too long to reply, “You Gryffindors had been obsessing over the idea that there could be a Veela at our school...” 

Her eyes widened and her gaze drifted to his wings. 

“Ahhh, I knew you would catch on. Brightest witch and all that.” His words were harsh and condescending, sneering her nickname as if it were an insult. Truthfully, she’d never cared for it, but hated it even more coming from him in that tone.

She ignored the hurt that was settling in her ribcage and focused on their topic. “But how? There are only female Veela…” 

“But there are male children of Veela, are there not?”

She hadn’t ever considered whether the student could have been a male child descending from Veela heritage. In all her years working within the Ministry she had never encountered a man who was inflicted with genetic changes due to having a Veela parent. 

“Your mother was a Vee—”

“No,” he cut her off. “My father is half Veela. His mother was Veela.” 

Even more rare, she supposed, to be a quarter Veela on your father’s side and still have genetic coding of a Veela. 

“I’ve never… I mean, I haven’t come across this…”

“No, I would be surprised if you had.” Draco placed his teacup down on the round table beside his chair with a slight clink. “I have been told it is quite the rarity that I’ve experienced this.” 

“How had I not heard about this before? This should have been something that I was aware of!”

“I’m sure the Ministry had their reasons.”

She watched as a scowl formed on his beautiful face. And it  _ was _ beautiful. She hated to admit that he had grown to be an exquisite man. 

_ It figures _ , she thought crossly,  _ that he would be so attractive _ .

“Still,” she mused, “I should have known.” 

She abruptly remembered why she was here: to convince him to complete his mating bond. She blushed furiously, realizing the topic they would soon have to discuss. 

“How have you been?” he asked suddenly. 

She was caught off guard by his question and almost choked on her tea. As she recovered, she thought of all the things she could tell him: about the anxiety and panic attacks; about playing hero for the public while feeling broken inside; about her parents, who would never know her again as her obliviate was just too strong. Surely he wasn’t interested in the real Hermione. Most people were not. 

So she fell back on a polite platitude. “I’ve been alright…

“I’m engaged,” she added abruptly as she raised the hand that bore a small, simple band. There was no diamond or other jewel. It was thin and silver, but she was happy with it nonetheless. Ron had promised to get her something nicer once things got better at the shop he ran with his brother George, but she hadn’t ever pushed for anything different. 

The look Draco gave the ring was one of disgust, and she began to panic. She braced herself to hear a diatribe on anyone being willing to marry a Mudblood, but he shocked her when he said softly, “Congratulations, Hermione.” 

Whether because she believed he genuinely meant it, or because he used her name, she found herself holding her breath, watching him. The orange light of the fire lit one side of his body, the other still shrouded in darkness. It was then that she noticed how exhausted he looked.

“What about you, Malfoy? How have you been?” 

She wanted to broach the subject carefully. She knew from experience that male creatures would refuse to mate only for good reason. To go against their basic instincts were rare and often deadly. If Draco was refusing to mate… 

“I’ve been better… though I’m doing much better than when you left me in that library,” he admitted. 

She smiled sympathetically, not quite knowing what to say. After a few moments, she whispered,

“You know why I’m here.”. 

“Yes, I do.” 

Taking a deep breath, she was about to begin her formal questioning, but stopped short when she felt her magic buzz against her skin again. It felt like a feather light touch running up and down her arms, raising goosebumps in its wake. Her eyebrows furrowed and she stared at her skin, hoping to find evidence of her magic’s presence, but in the fire’s light she could see nothing unusual. 

Clearing his throat, Draco murmured in a low voice, “I won’t be changing my mind, Granger.” 

His words sent a touch of magic down her spine. It made it nearly impossible to focus, and Hermione internally chided her magic for acting so strange. 

She tried to regain her composure as she straightened her back and got to business, ignoring his words. She pulled a folder out of her bag and found the form she would need to complete for her interview. Most of the time, Hermione found the beings she came in contact with were agitated by the Ministry’s generic form. But she was a rule follower, even when she found rules tedious and unhelpful. 

“Mr. Malfoy, are you aware that you have created a mating bond but have not completed it?” she read from her paper. She heard him scoff, but she kept her eyes on the paper, quill ready for his response. 

“Yes.”

“And are you aware that if you do not complete your bonding, you are risking your health and/or life?” 

“Yes.”

“What is the reason for refusing to complete the bond?” she asked. This was something she was also personally interested in. Why was Draco Malfoy, prat extraordinaire, refusing to bond with his mate? He was used to getting everything his way, surely this wouldn’t be an exception?

“I…” he paused, and she looked up to find a very conflicted-looking Draco. He took a steadying breath and continued, “She does not know about the bond.” 

“Your mate?”

“Yes.”

“Why have you not informed her?” Hermione asked, suddenly extremely anxious. The Ministry was obligated to inform the necessary parties when these occurrences happened. The fact they had neglected this was worrisome. 

“Well, there was this thing that happened right when the bond formed… I think you may recall it… Oh, yes, a bloody  _ war _ , Granger.” 

For a moment Hermione was worried his mate might have died during the war and that was why he had yet to bond, but then she remembered she was here because the Ministry was trying to encourage Draco to complete the bond. Clearly the Ministry was under the impression that she was alive. 

“And why didn’t you tell her  _ after _ the war?” Hermione argued, going very much off script. Draco glanced at the parchment in her hands as if he’d known this had become Hermione’s own interview, but he still went along with it. 

“I lost touch,” was all he said. As if  _ that _ were enough reason to not mate. Hermione had worked with many magical beings, and this had to be the most bewildering moment in her career. Not only was she still in awe that her client was  _ the _ Draco Malfoy, but the careless way he spoke about the situation was unlike any other interview she’d ever had with an unmated creature. Usually they groaned in pain. Usually they had a perfectly logical reason for not mating, often due to the fact their mate was dead or unwilling. 

But leave it to Draco to defy what she knew to be true. He sat, arrogant as ever, in his oversized chair, drinking from his tiny teacup. The air around him reeked of privilege as he acted as if he had no care in the world. 

_ As if he weren’t dying _ , Hermione reminded herself. 

She glared at her parchment and read from the next line. 

“Are you aware that your refusal to complete your bond has resulted in several magical occurrences in the town in which you reside?” 

A sharp inhale of breath and finally, “No.” 

She was about to read her next question, but he stopped her when he asked, “Have I really caused things to happen here?” 

Blinking up at him, she nodded. “Just last week a Muggle woman was found killing her husband in the middle of the street. When she was asked about it, she said a voice told her to do it. Of course the Muggle authorities made her out to be a lunatic, but when Magical Law Enforcement got involved, they found traces of magic in her system. Prior to that there were several instances where Muggles all wound up on the floor after their beds disappeared late one night. We had to wipe their minds clean… practically half of the town had to be chased down. Prior to  _ that _ —” 

“I get it,” Draco cut her off harshly, looking very pale. “But how can you prove it was  _ my _ magic doing it?” 

“Well…” Hermione was nervous, to be completely honest. “When you became a citizen of France, you were registered as a magical creature. The French government has been watching you since you stepped foot here. They’ve tracked all of the magic that comes and goes from this house. Whenever there was an influx of magic in your home, strange…  _ magical… _ things happened in the town. They realized it was you.” 

“So that’s why you’re here?”

“That’s why I’m here,” she confirmed. “The French were too scared to kick you out so they enlisted our help… seeing as you are an English citizen.” 

“So I’m getting kicked out of a country that I’ve resided in for a decade because I made some Muggle beds disappear?” Draco demanded. 

Hermione had to keep herself from pointing out, quite angrily, that he had also been the cause of a Muggle man’s death, something he seemed fine with ignoring. 

“Not necessarily. But I am here to encourage you to take your bonding seriously. I’ll spend time educating you and directing you in whatever way the Ministry deems necessary.” 

“Fucking Merlin, you have to be kidding me. This has to be a joke.” 

His tone seemed to indicate he didn’t find it believable that she could do her job, which she found offensive. He’d known her to be a successful witch at school, whether he’d liked her or not. Surely, he had more faith in her than that. 

“I can assure you, Mr. Malfoy, it is  _ not _ a joke.”

“Stop calling me that!” He stood from his chair, knocking into the small table beside him. The rustle of his wings caught her attention and she watched as they vibrated in sync with his emotional distress. “Mr. Malfoy is my father. I am  _ not _ my father.”

The professionalism Hermione prided herself in was wiped clean at his outburst. She was quite done with the way he was acting so she yelled back, “Sit down, you arse. Are you actually trying to make this harder than it needs to be? Do you honestly think  _ I’m _ enjoying this? I know this is awkward. I can’t understand why the Ministry sent me when they should have known it would be a conflict of interest, considering our past—”

“Our past?” he laughed sardonically. A chill crept up her legs and settled in her bones. He sounded furious. Hell, he  _ looked _ furious, his wings tensing, eyes ablaze. “And what past would that be, Granger?” 

“I know you…”

“ _ Do _ you know me?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. 

His question was hard to answer. She wanted to shout that, yes, she did know him. He was the tosser who’d bullied her for six years of her life. He was the youngest Death Eater in history. In the same year they’d enjoyed their secret meetings in the library, he had been the cause of Dumbledore’s death. Had he had the Mark then? Had he been laughing at her the whole time? Stupid little Mudblood Hermione, thinking she could befriend a Death Eater? 

But the truth was, ten years was a long time to fall out of an acquaintance with someone. She didn’t know the man who stood before her now, though his attitude indicated not much had changed. 

“It’s a conflict of interest,” she finally told him, sounding far more confident than she felt. 

“We agree on that, Granger. Trust me.” 

She wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, but she was so tired from their exchange thus far that she wanted to be done for the day. She resumed her questioning, line by line, until they were finished. 

Most of his answers were a brief yes or no. It seemed his outburst had drained him of all energy, but it was not an issue. The Ministry wouldn’t find anything unusual in his initial responses. 

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” she informed him as she stood. “I expect you to be willing to cooperate. You’ve caused enough trouble, intentional or not, to land yourself in prison. You’re lucky the French are so terrified of you, Malfoy.”

“ _ La Bête du Château Gris _ ,” was his sad response. “Trust me, Granger,” he told her with far less energy than she’d seen from him. “I know what people think of me.”

Her magic, which had silenced during their conversation, swept through her with a gloomy chill. Perhaps her magic was acting up due to the international travel. She always hated traveling by portkey any great distance, and it always took a few days for her to recover physically. Could her magic actually get sick? She filed that question away and decided she would ask Ginny or Harry if they knew the answer. 

_ It was as if her magic made his sadness tangible _ …she shook the absurd thought away.

Not knowing how to respond to his new mood, Hermione simply tilted her head as a goodbye, and walked away. His house elf led her back to the front door without a word. The silent elf’s grimace told her everything she needed to know about this place. 

There was no life here. 

-*-  
  


“Maybe the bloke doesn’t find her attractive?” Ron suggested unhelpfully from the other end of her mobile phone. She had forced him to get a phone once she began traveling internationally. She could hardly stand making floo calls, and owls were far too tedious to use every time she had something new to share with him. “I think it’s more complicated than that, Ron,” Hermione sighed before sliding into the hotel bed. She was happy that the town Draco was residing in was largely Muggle. She always preferred staying in Muggle hotels, but the Ministry would only put her up in one when they had no other options. She clicked on the telly and tried to find a channel that she could play in the background. She found one that played old classic French films, turned the volume down, and focused on her conversation with her fiancé.

“Well he has to have some reason he’d rather die than be shacked up with her,” he protested. “She has to be ugly.” 

“Perhaps,” she conceded, not wanting to get into it with him. Whenever he felt he was right, he wouldn’t back down - even when it was a subject he knew nothing about.

Leave it to Ron to oversimplify something like a mating bond. She supposed she should be happy that he was trying to be helpful - but he surely wouldn’t be if he knew it was Malfoy that was involved; he had nothing good to say about any of them. But what Ron didn’t understand was that there was simply too much at stake for Draco not to bond. His reasoning against it must be severe.

“Miss you, ‘Mione,” he told her quietly. She could hear the sleep in his voice. 

“Miss you too, but you should sleep.” 

“Yeah, I am a bit tired. The shop was a right mess with Valentine’s Day coming up.” 

“How’s George?” she found herself asking. George hated rushes. The former prankster had become something of a recluse when Fred died. Holidays were especially hard on him. 

“Better this year, now that he’s got Angelina. I think she’s helped him loads.” 

“Good.” 

“So…” Ron said slowly, “I’m guessing you won’t be home in time for it… for Valentine’s Day?” 

Sighing, she pulled the phone away from her ear and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Ron always started fights when she was away during what he called “the big events.” 

“No,” she told him. 

“Figured,” his muffled voice said from over the line. 

“I’m sorry,” she replied sincerely, hoping he wouldn’t make this a big thing. 

“Yep. Look, I got to go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.” 

Before she could offer her goodbye, he hung up. It was progress, she supposed. Usually he threw tantrums that lasted hours, even days, when he felt she had slighted him somehow. She had hoped he would grow out of it as they aged, but it seemed that was a part of Ronald’s personality that he preferred not to leave in the past. 

As she placed her phone on the nightstand, she snuggled further into the soft bed, and her mind went to the strange way her magic had been acting earlier. It was then that she realized she hadn’t felt it acting off since she’d gotten back to the hotel. Focusing, she tried to recreate the feeling, but she wasn’t even sure what had caused her magic to be so strange in the first place. Absence of the buzz, the way she didn’t feel the strange warmth brushing against her skin, made her feel oddly alone. As if some part of her was missing. Which was absolutely insane, of course. 

Draco had been affecting the town with his magic; maybe he had been the cause for her magic to act oddly. Though she had never experienced something like that before, it didn’t mean that it couldn’t happen. So she added it to a list of things she would need to research when she had the time. If she had the time. She never seemed to find time for herself anymore. 

Her thoughts drifted to Draco. How long had he known he would end up the way he was? When had the wings shown up? He hadn’t had them the last time she had seen him, and she knew they were not there when Rita Skeeter had written a piece about him in the Daily Prophet. But then he had vanished and she had not seen him since. Ten years, in fact, had been the amount of time since she’d last seen his face. 

No longer was he the boy who crept into her dreams - the dreams where he came to her with a smile reserved only for her and their time together in their corner of the library. There, they would often sit in silence, keeping each other company. Sometimes he would read aloud to her in a raspy, tired voice. 

Every night, she would dream of him; every night, she would wake to find Ron sleeping beside her, and she would feel guilty.

The truth was, she had lost part of herself to Draco then. For whatever reason she felt herself yearning for just one more minute with him there, even if their time together had been brief. Even after all he had done. The night Dumbledore died, the night she learned of Draco’s betrayal, she had wept. Though people had thought she was grieving their headmaster, they didn’t realize she was also grieving a boy with sad silver eyes who could have asked for help but didn’t. 

Hermione rubbed away the familiar pain she always got in her chest when she thought too long of Draco. It was a twisting sensation that left her feeling ill for days. It was as if her body begged her to just go find him. Through the years, she would try to pretend as though she didn’t feel it and continue living her life, but each time it got harder to ignore. 

Now he was close, and she would have to see him again in the morning. What might this trip cost her?

Draco was a man now. No, that wasn’t even entirely accurate. He was more than a man. He looked like a god standing before that fire tonight. He was just  _ more _ somehow. His physical appearance had been shocking enough, but the aura that surrounded him had also been breathtaking. It was as if his presence drew all the life around to him. Perhaps he was breathing in the life that surrounded him and destroying it. The house, unlike its master, was like a tomb - cold and empty, lifeless and joyless. Even the lone house elf seemed as though the life had been sucked from his marrow. 

Hermione pushed herself to her back and watched the ceiling dance with the light from the moon. If Draco breathed in and destroyed life, she would surely not make it out of this thing unscathed. 

And then there were his wings. She had wanted to touch them, inspect them. She hadn’t had a good look at them, and that bothered her somehow. She wondered how they worked. Could he fly? Sweet Circe, just imagining Draco flying had Hermione fighting a fit of laughter. How bizarre it was to find him in this state. But those wings were fascinating.  _ He _ was fascinating. If she wasn’t careful, she knew she would get far too invested in this case. 

Determined to distance her thoughts from the man she had encountered today, she began wedding planning instead. It was something she did whenever she needed to wind down or sleep. She wasn’t sure what that meant - forcing herself to sleep by thinking of her impending nuptials - but it worked like a charm. After she had placed each person at their designated table for the reception, planned the exact color of the bridal party dresses, and decided which cakes she would like to have at the wedding, she finally found herself dozing off. 

Once she was pulled into the calm of sleep, her dreams found her in the company of Draco Malfoy once again. This time, though, he wasn’t a boy whispering poetry in a darkened library. He was a man with wings and dark eyes, whispering of secrets and beasts who dwelled in grey castles. 


	2. the room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to each and every person who has read this story so far. Thank you to every reader who felt inclined to write a review, because you are what keeps us writers going. I love each and every person. You are truly amazing. 
> 
> If you feel moved to do so, please write a comment and I will try to get back to everyone!
> 
> (PS: if you get a comment back from brylobren that's my pseudo... lol)
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful beta, [MyPrivateInsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyPrivateInsanity?fbclid=IwAR0Edd64CTlcu9FGbYzDe5hV9nOFEC_iegzZ2iJwMEaDh5dKEkArJV6p-eY) !!

###  **— CHAPTER TWO —**

Bright and early the next morning, Hermione found herself once again in front of a large, wooden door. As she waited to be let in, she looked around at the overgrown, unkempt gardens. That was how Draco found her as he opened the door - wind-tousled hair, frown on her face, coffee cup in hand.

“Were you planning on standing out here all day?” he asked grumpily when she didn’t even bother to look at him. It was the tone of his voice that snapped Hermione out of her thoughts and she turned his way, smiling brightly. 

“How are you today, Malfoy?” she asked. She hoped the chipper sound in her voice was far more convincing than she felt. It had been a plan she’d created that morning as she brushed her teeth. She was determined to convince Draco Malfoy to mate, and if that meant being an annoyingly optimistic pest, she would be. There was so much life out in the world he could experience if he would just let himself do what he needed to do. She couldn’t understand why he wanted to throw that all away— especially since Harry had done so much to ensure his freedom. Was he not grateful for his second chance? Was he really that much of an arse? 

Glancing down at the hand that held her coffee, his brow furrowed. “What’s in that cup that has you this terribly excited this morning?” 

“Are you going to let me in or not?” she asked, ignoring his question about her coffee. That was another part of her plan. She would not allow his jabs and insults to affect her. In fact, she was going to ignore them altogether. She had read about behaviors and found the best way to exterminate an unwanted, attention-seeking behavior was to ignore it. Granted, she had read this on a parent forum about toddlers, but she figured there wasn’t much of a difference, anyhow. 

Without speaking, Draco stepped back and waved her in, allowing her to pass him and enter the foyer. Again, the house was dark and cold. How he could live in such a large mansion with so little evidence of life was beyond her. 

“I have a few things on the agenda today. I’m sure you received an owl with your worksheets?”

“Oh, yes. The ones that asked me what dreams I had when I was younger. Those?” 

Noting the sarcastic way he quoted the question, she carefully asked, “Did you fill out the worksheets?” 

“No.” 

She took a slow, deep breath, trying hard not to become frustrated with the sneering man standing in front of her. 

“Did you not see the directions?”

“Oh, I saw them, Granger. I chose to ignore them.”

He pushed past her and made his way down the hallway. She followed behind, having to run to keep up with his long strides. Once again, she was struck at the major physical changes he had gone through. 

“And can I ask why you so blatantly decided to not follow Ministry-ordered directions?” 

“The Ministry can shove those papers up their pompous, holier-than-thou arses for all I care,” was his reply. 

It took everything in her not to stomp her feet and scold him. 

Instead, she calmly asked, “Was there something about the questions you didn’t like?”

He stopped so suddenly, she ran straight into him— into his wings. A shocked gasp left her as she felt them for the first time. They were softer than they looked, but she wasn’t able to fully take in their attributes as he pulled harshly away from her on a growl. 

“Watch it, Granger,” he warned, whipping around to meet her shocked gaze. A wave of cold anger swam in his silver eyes. The cold feeling that had washed over her the day before came back in full force, and she shivered. Her magic was going to get on her nerves if it kept doing this. 

“You stopped, not me!” she argued as he continued to seethe in front of her. 

“Don’t you dare touch my wings again. I mean it, Granger.” His voice was low, almost like a growl. “I don’t want your Mudblood hands on them.” 

The slur had her stepping back as if she’d been slapped. It would have hurt less if he had struck her. It had been so long since she’d been called a Mudblood that she’d almost forgotten how dirty it made her feel. 

“I. Am. A. Ministry official! How… how dare you!” she yelled, pointing a shaking finger in his direction. “Don’t you dare call me that!” 

“Or you’ll do what exactly? Lecture me to death?” 

“I’ll… I’ll leave.”

“That’s the point!” he shouted. 

Hermione had known that this would happen eventually when she took this case. Every time she’d ever taken a mating case, she’d been yelled at, cursed at, told to leave. But something about the way Draco had so easily slipped in the slur as if they were twelve again, felt more personal. It wasn’t fair that he would blame her for this. He was the one refusing to mate. It was the Ministry who was trying to force the mating bond to form, not her. 

_ Well, that’s not exactly true, is it Hermione? You  _ are _ the Ministry,  _ she thought bitterly. 

The thought of quitting didn’t sound too bad at the moment. 

“I’m trying to help…” she tried again weakly, but he wasn’t having it. He saw through her bullshit. 

“By forcing a mating bond? Does that seem like helping to you?” 

“Well… if you don’t form - ” 

“And forcing an innocent woman to mate with me? Me? A fucking Death Eater, Granger? Who in the hell would you hate so much to do that to?” 

He had a point. She wouldn’t wish this fate on anyone she knew. 

“But shouldn’t she have that choice? How do you know you’re actually protecting her by not mating with her? What happens if somehow her magic is tied to you and you die? Seems hardly fair—”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about what’s fair!” he roared. His voice echoed through the empty hall, and for the first time since she’d seen him again, she was scared of him. Of what he was most likely capable of, whether he realized it or not. His magic was unstable, and by the wall of magic that hit her, she imagined he didn’t know when it was happening.

“Oh, that’s right. Poor Draco Malfoy. Had to watch his friends die because a sadistic monster hunted them down and let his followers massacre children…. Oh, wait! That would have required you to fight on the right side!” 

Hermione was shocked by the vehemence that laced her cruel truth. Draco Malfoy didn’t know the first thing about the unfair world in which they lived. The thought of her parents flooded her mind, but she forced it away. 

“You bloody, self-righteous… _bitch_!” 

Draco turned away, walking further into the house. For a moment Hermione debated whether she would follow him or just leave. He wasn’t worth it. He was just as horrible as she’d remembered, if not worse. Then, he had been a lost child who had been led astray; now he was a man who should know that his prejudices were wrong and outdated - that he had fought on the wrong side. 

Giving up, however, was not something Hermione could do. She had to try to finish her assignment. 

Quietly, she followed him up the spiral staircase and down many halls, meeting him in a large room. It was so dark that her eyes had to adjust before she could realize what she was looking at. It was a bedroom. For one horrifying minute, she was worried she’d followed him into his own room, but a musty scent told her that the room was disused. 

“Your room,” he informed her in such a low whisper that she might have imagined it.

“My what?” she asked. 

With a flick of his wand, the room was flooded with a warm light. As she could see the room much clearer, she took in the sight. A large bed sat against the farthest wall, Slytherin green. A large, fur rug sat at the center of the room; a black sofa sat in front of a lit fireplace. 

“Your room,” he repeated. “If you are going to insist on interrogating me for the next month, I’ll request you do me the courtesy of being my guest.”

How they had gone from yelling at one another to Draco requesting she stay in his home was beyond Hermione. Gaping at him, she tried to form coherent words. 

“If you don’t like it, you can leave,” he snapped, “and not return.” 

“You want  _ me _ to stay  _ here _ ?” she asked incredulously. 

“Is the room not to your liking?” 

The question was not really a question - it was a threat, though she wasn’t sure how. Looking around the room, she had to admit it wouldn’t be the worst place to spend her time. But to stay under the same roof with Draco? That ruined the allure of the sumptuous room. “I’m not staying in your home. I have a room at a hotel down the road—”

“If my magic is causing the problems you and your precious Ministry claim, I would feel better if you were here.”

“And it can’t hurt me here?” Her heart skipped. She knew the answer. If she stayed here, the fears that had plagued her thoughts the night before would most definitely happen. How could she be in such close quarters with him without being burned? 

“I haven’t been aware of my magic doing anything inside this house.” 

He hadn’t even known he was causing the chaos in the little town down the hill. 

“I don’t think the Ministry will agree to it.” 

Her last attempt to save herself was torn from her when he stated simply, “I already told them. I owled Kingsley last night after you left.”

The next time Hermione saw Kingsley she would throttle him. How dare he agree to have her stay here? As Draco had so nicely stated, he was an ex-Death Eater. His family had been vocal when it came to extinguishing people like her. How could Kingsley be so sure she would be safe here? 

“It’s that or leave, Granger. Your choice… though I know what I would rather.” 

She knew he was trying to push her away. He was trying to call her bluff. But she wouldn’t leave - she couldn’t. 

“I’ll have to go fetch my bags.”

The grimace that formed on his perfect face told her she had won this battle. 

“My elf, Hugo will get them for you.” 

So  _ that _ was the little curmudgeon’s name. 

“Hugo?” She wrinkled her nose at the name, not liking it very much. 

Draco tsked at her in disapproval, “Since when did the great Hermione Granger judge poor helpless creatures’ names?” 

“I wasn’t—”

“I thought you of all people would like his name,” Draco scoffed before turning away from her once again. She didn’t have time to ponder on his words because he turned his back toward her, which put his wings on display. She stepped closer to get a better look at his wings in the light. If he sensed her closeness, he didn’t let on and continued to stare at the open window. 

She had been correct the night before when she had thought she’d seen a green tint to them. Now that she was closer and the light of the room allowed for a better view, her breath was stolen at the sight. It was like spilled oil on wet pavement. They glimmered in a way that was otherworldly, and she yearned to reach out and touch them. She wanted to feel the softness she had felt only moments earlier by accident. 

Swallowing, she stepped even closer. He tensed but did not step away from her. She took this as a silent invitation to inspect him further. Ever so slowly, she reached out her hand, her fingertips brushing the air near his wings. She knew better than to touch them again. He had warned her, and she wasn’t sure how seriously he had meant his threat. But she was drawn to them, to him. The buzz of her magic returned, and she felt a warmth fill her from her toes to her head. It was as if she’d been dipped into a pool. It flowed in and around her, pushing her closer and closer to Draco. 

Just as she was about to abandon all reason and press her fingertips to his wings, he broke their silence. 

“Are they to your liking?” he asked in a strained voice. Her head was swimming, her magic making it hard to concentrate on his words. 

“What?”

“My wings.”

Oh, they were to her liking, but she had no idea how to express that in a way that would make any sense. Instead, she ignored his question and stepped back. The moment she was at arms’ length of him and his glorious wings, the fog in her brain slowly lifted, and she returned to her senses. 

“We should begin our day. The first day is always the longest and most boring of the sessions.” 

“I’m not joining you,” was his reply. Finally, he turned so she could see his face. His eyes shone with an undefinable emotion, his lips set in a firm line. 

She had enough of his cat and mouse game. She was a Ministry official, for Merlin’s sake! He had to obey her whether he liked it or not. 

Putting her hands on her hips, she stated firmly, “You don’t have a choice, Malfoy.” 

“Try me,” he muttered as he pushed past her, careful not to allow his wings to touch a “Mudblood” like her, and slammed the door shut as he left the room. 

She was rooted to the spot. She needed to collect herself. The anger that coursed through her was volatile. What an insufferable cockroach of a man! Draco Malfoy had not changed one bit since their time at Hogwarts; she was convinced of it. 

She was going to completely and utterly fail this assignment. 

* * *

  
  


_ November 20, 1996  _

Draco found himself pulled back into the same corner of the library as the night he had shared with Hermione Granger. It was a night he would never forget; though he tried very hard to obliviate himself, his magic rebelled against the idea. 

After that horrible, fateful night, Draco had found himself searching for the frizzy-haired witch whenever he entered a room. To his dismay, she seemed to be everywhere, carrying her sickly sweet scent with her. He detested her. No, he  _ loathed _ her. How dare she have this hold over him and his magic? What kind of sick joke were the gods playing? Fuck, at this rate he didn’t even believe any gods would condemn him to have this fate he seemed destined to. 

It wasn’t as if it mattered. He had been tasked with the impossible. He would end up dead by the end of this year, and she wouldn’t be a concern anymore. Nobody would have to know the horrible truth that he faced every day. 

Hermione Granger was his mate. 

There hadn’t been any major sign. At first, it was subtle enough that he wondered if the stress of his task was causing him to imagine it.

However, as his magic moved and pushed and ached whenever she was near, he knew, without a doubt, what she was. 

He had found out about his Veela heritage during his fourth year when his mother had sat him down and explained the -  _ anomaly _ \- in his father’s line in a hushed tone. Because his father’s line carried the bloodline of a Veela, it meant their family was not what it appeared to be. This news shattered his illusion of being from a proper pureblood family. They were tainted now, in a way Draco couldn’t even comprehend at the tender age of fourteen. 

Now, he knew the seriousness of his condition and what it meant to those who looked to the Malfoys as pillars of their ideology. His mother warned him to never speak the truth to anyone, as it could lead to something far worse than death. No, death would be kind - it would sweep you away from the cruelty the world was so keen to display. If anyone found out, the Malfoys would be subjected to torment of many kinds. Social disgrace was a given, but physical repercussions would ensue if the wrong sort of person found out. 

If  _ He _ found out. 

Narcissa had calmly explained that the odds of anything happening to him were extremely rare, but he must be diligent in monitoring for the symptoms that could occur. 

One-in-a-million, she had told him. 

Draco found the corner of the library empty, and he almost sagged in relief. As usual, the library was littered with a handful of students who were getting ahead on their homework, mainly Ravenclaw students, but nobody ever made their way to the back of the Muggle book section. In his second year, he had discovered a small table with two cushioned chairs tucked away in the darkest corner of the library (aside from the Restricted Section, of course, but he wasn’t daft enough to venture in there). When he had realized it was so empty because Hogwarts students were not interested in literature written by Muggles, he had almost gotten up and left. His father would sneer at the idea of his son studying among books written by such filth. But Draco was tired, he was anxious to finish his work in peace, and he rather liked the way the two candles lit the small corner with a welcoming glow. 

So he had stayed, and there he studied each week, month, and year. 

He shouldn’t have been so surprised at finding Hermione in that section the other night. In fact, it was more shocking that he hadn’t ever run into her there previously. Surely she would like to indulge in Muggle literature, seeing as she was a Mudblood. 

That evening, Draco had half-expected to see the witch cuddled in one of his chairs, but was relieved he would have a reprieve from her at least for one evening. 

It wasn’t until the moon had risen and the skies grew dark that his studying was interrupted by a small cough. Glancing up from the book that held information about vanishing cabinets, he found Hermione Granger standing in front of him, looking rather cross. 

He wasn’t sure what could have crawled up her arse this time, but frankly, he didn’t care to find out. Ignoring her, he went back to his reading, hoping she wouldn’t read over his shoulder. If anyone could figure out what he was up to, it would be Hermione Granger. Potter had been following him around, thinking he was quite inconspicuous. Draco had found himself playing games with the idiot - intentionally talking about Death Eaters so Potter could hear him, coming up with false information to feed him, looking both ways before entering the room - the basic shifty things. And Potter ate it up. 

“Are you going to sit there and ignore me?” came Hermione’s indignant voice. 

“That was the plan.”

He heard shuffling and when he chanced a glance, he saw she was sitting in the chair across from him, pulling books from a bag that looked far too small to be carrying what was coming out of it. He watched her curiously, his magic on fire again from being so close to her. Why had it chosen  _ her _ ? He had often wondered if she felt the same tug he felt whenever they were near each other, but she never gave any indication that he was remotely worth her time. Against his wishes, she’d found him and sat with him, though. That had to mean something, right?

Not that he cared. 

He didn’t. 

“What are you currently working on?” she asked as if he were one of her prick friends. She was delusional if she thought he would tolerate her overbearing arse. He grunted and continued to read, hoping she would get the hint and leave. 

While his magic seemed overjoyed she was there, his head was fighting it. She confused him. 

He hated her. 

He wanted her.

He didn’t bloody know  _ what _ he felt about her. 

He did know, however, that nothing would ever happen between them. He knew there was a chance he could get sick if he didn’t mate, but maybe this was a fluke? Maybe he could mate with someone else? Someone less frustrating, someone less dirty, someone less...  _ her _ . Surely there had to be a way around the mating issue. 

“I’ve finished this week’s work… I just needed a quiet place to read,” she informed him, ignorant of, as he supposed many Muggleborns to be, any social graces - like knowing when you were wanted around. 

“That’s great, Mudblood, but I have some work to do. So if you could kindly fuck off...” he ground out, not allowing himself to look up at her. He didn’t want to see her flinch as he called her that word.

“I could help—”

“Not necessary,” he cut her off. 

“I’ll just read then.”

Her voice had gone softer - as if her confidence had worn thin. His magic protested at the idea that he’d hurt his mate, and he almost let out a groan. For Merlin’s sake! This mating thing was ridiculous. 

He peeked at her through his eyelashes to find her frowning, reading a tattered book. It wasn’t her typical frown when reading or studying. Her feelings were hurt, but she was trying to pretend she was okay. 

He  _ had _ hurt her then. 

His magic seemed to growl at that, and he mentally gave his magic the bird. 

“What are you reading?” he found himself asking her. The moment the words left his mouth, he regretted it. He shouldn't really care what she was doing or what bothered her. 

he looked up at him tentatively, then back down at her book as if she too needed to figure out what she was reading. 

“Jane Eyre,” she finally sighed. “But I’m afraid my attention is a bit shot.”

“And what exactly is Jane Eyre?” he asked, annoyed with the fact that she, once again, knew something he didn’t. 

“Oh!” her face brightened at the prospect of being an absolute swot. She sat up straighter and he knew, from her posture, she was about to give a lesson he had not asked for. “It’s a wonderful book about a girl…” and she droned on about mansions and gothic literature and wives being hidden away. Draco watched her intently. There was something mesmerizing in the way she talked about books - her eyes afire with the knowledge she yearned to share, her hands flying all around her as she spoke animatedly. He had always found it annoying before, but now…

_ No _ , he chided,  _ it’s because of the bond, you tosser.  _

“It’s Muggle literature then?” He tried to force a semblance of disgust, but even to his own ears, he knew he sounded more interested than repulsed. 

“Yes,” she smiled shyly. “But honestly, I’m so tired, I think I’ll just sit here for a bit and rest.”

He wanted to roll his eyes and tell her that she didn’t know what being tired was like. She couldn’t possibly understand the exhaustion one felt when faced with an impossible task on top of tedious schoolwork. 

He began scanning his own book, but her presence was distracting. Her strawberries-and-vanilla scent was intoxicating - but underneath the fragrance she wore, there was a natural sweetness he found even more enticing. It was that scent, like honey and parchment, that was driving him wild. His magic begged him to move closer, to hold her against him. 

“I could read to you... if you’d like,” he told her, his voice strained from the need that he was trying desperately to repress. 

He watched as her eyes went wide, and a small smile crept onto her face. 

“Would you really?”

“Why not?” was the only response he trusted to not expose his inner turmoil. 

She passed him the book across the table, leaning in and exposing him to that honey scent even further. He reached for the book, and their fingers brushed gently. It stole his breath, the way his magic seemed to sigh in relief even from such a small touch. 

Clearing his throat, he opened the bookmarked page and began reading from it. If anything, he figured it would take his mind off of the Vanishing Cabinet - even if just for the evening. 

Hermione settled happily into her armchair and closed her eyes as he began. Within minutes, he was lost in the story. He hated to admit that something written by a Muggle could be so intriguing, and he certainly wouldn’t be making that known to the witch in front of him.

Reading to her like this reminded him of the night they had spent together just a week earlier, how she seemed to find herself perfectly content with him reading to her. He wondered if it was just the book, or if part of her enjoyed who was reading it. 

But that was a ridiculous notion. Why would she find anything about Draco pleasurable?

After an hour had passed, Hermione stretched her arms and stifled a yawn. Draco, too, was tired, but he felt a pang of disappointment at the sudden realization there was no way he could finish the book with her. Soon they would need to part ways and head back to their own designated common rooms. 

“This has been nice,” Hermione told him through another yawn. “But I’m awfully tired and I think I should be heading back now.” 

“Yeah, I have work to do anyway,” he grumbled. 

Hermione must have mistaken his sudden change in mood to be irritation with her because a frown formed on her once happy face. Though he wished he could make her smile again, he didn’t attempt to correct her assumption. Nothing had changed. They still could not be friends. 

“I guess I’ll leave you to it,” she whispered, but she didn’t move from her spot. 

He didn’t tell her to stay, though he knew she was looking for an invitation. Truthfully, he didn’t want her to. He needed her to leave. 

But Hermione didn’t budge. She stayed seated, watching him as if she were trying to solve a problem in Potions. He hated that she wouldn’t go. He hated the way she studied him. He was worried if she looked too closely, she would see the real him. The person he’d become the day he’d let that maniac brand his arm. 

As if it knew he was thinking of him, his Mark began to burn. He took a deep breath in, steadying, calming. He tried to ignore the pain he had grown accustomed to, but it was difficult with  _ her _ sitting there with her studying him.

Now really irritated with her presence, he snapped, “I don’t know what you’re trying to achieve, Granger. Has Potter finally realized that he’s not sneaky and sent a new spy to watch me?” 

The blush on her cheeks indicated he had been right about Harry following him, and it was evident she was privy to her best friend’s actions. An anger he had always buried deep inside of him surfaced, and he gritted his teeth in order to keep from saying something he’d regret. Fucking Gryffindors and their sense of entitlement. They walked around the school as if they owned it, and in a way they did. The teachers turned a blind eye to the way they acted, and they all got away with murder. Not only did they run off and do things that should end with their expulsion from the school, but they were also rewarded points for the idiocy. 

And Potter was the king of them all. 

“What? Your hairball of a cat got your tongue?” he taunted through his teeth. 

“Crookshanks.”

“Come again?” 

Hermione glared at him, though she didn’t move from her lounging state in the chair. 

“Crookshanks. My cat's name is Crookshanks.” 

_ That _ was what she was hung up on? Of all the things he’d said, she was offended for her ugly little pet. 

“I hardly care what  _ your _ name is, Mudblood. It shouldn’t come as a surprise I could give less than two shits about your animal.” 

Hermione crossed her arms and closed her eyes. He wanted to scream at her to leave. Surely she wasn’t dense enough not to realize when her presence wasn’t wanted. 

_ Or perhaps,  _ a little voice spoke inside of him,  _ she knows when her presence  _ is _ wanted. _

Gods, first his magic rebelled against him and now his own mind had decided to fuck off. 

“I know what you’re doing, Malfoy.”

Her words sent a cold wave of shock through him. There was no way she had already figured out his plot against Dumbledore and the school. She was bright, but not a mind reader.

Oh fuck, he hoped she wasn’t one. His occlumency skills should prevent her from discovering the truth, though. 

“I don’t know what you mean,” he managed. His heart raced in his chest, and he felt like he was going to pass out, but he excelled at putting on a mask, and he sounded cool and collected. 

“You’re acting like a complete arse because you don’t want to admit that you’ve enjoyed your time with me.”

He exhaled a breath, but couldn’t quite manage to feel relieved that she wasn’t on to his plan against Hogwarts. She was still in the dark about his alliances, but she had hit it close to the truth with what she’d said. 

“If you think,” he seethed, “that I give a single fuck about you, Mudblood, you’re going to find yourself extremely disappointed.”

With his use of the slur for the second time that night, Hermione sat up angrily and leaned toward him. Before she could get a word out, Draco twisted the knife further. “Then again, you are in love with that red-headed clown, so disappointment is something you’ll need to get used to.” 

Her face fell, and he knew he’d hit her where it hurt. Everyone seemed to be talking about Ron and Hermione and how he had slighted her by dating that dimwitted blonde from Gryffindor. It was obvious that the rumors had some truth to them; Draco had noticed how she had distanced herself from her best friends in the past weeks. 

“Is that why you’re here?” he smiled darkly at her pain. He relished in it. His magic screamed against him, and he pushed further, needing to hurt. Needing to remember why he couldn’t have her. “To get away from Weasel and - what’s that slag’s name... Lilac?”

“I…” She fumbled over her words. Draco licked his lips, feeling the burn of his magic against his skin. Whatever bond he had formed with Hermione was furious. 

“You think I don’t hear what people say about you? You’re pathetic, Granger. Poor little Mudblood has nobody to call her own. Maybe I felt sorry for you and let you stay.” 

He had hoped his words would cause her to flee, but he realized his mistake the moment her eyes narrowed and she said, “Why would you feel sorry for me if you don’t care about me like you say?” 

“I don’t care—”

“You’re a coward, Malfoy.”

She stood, gathering her things and shoving them into the tiny bag that he was certain was charmed. 

He watched as she threw the bag over her shoulder and dashed away a tear that had managed to escape. 

“You’re a coward and… and… I hate you,” she spat before rushing away. 

The way his magic cursed at him and begged him to make things right only furthered his anger. 

It wasn’t until she had left, her scent trailing behind her, that he realized she’d left something behind. 

Picking it up, he turned the worn book in his hands several times before opening to the place they’d left off. 

* * *

  
  


_ “ _ _ I had not intended to love him; the reader knows I had wrought hard to extirpate from my soul the germs of love there detected; and now, at the first renewed view of him, they spontaneously revived, great and strong! He made me love him without looking at me.” _

  
  


Hermione’s eyes opened; she half expected Draco to be there reading to her from her beloved Jane Eyre. Instead, she found herself alone in a darkened room. After Draco had left her standing in that room alone, she had tried to follow him, only to find the door to her room locked. She had tried every spell to unlock the door, but it was no use. She was a prisoner in his dying castle.  Hugo had apparated into her room with her things, smiling warily and leaving them beside the door. It was the first time she’d seen any glimpse of emotion from the creature, and she smiled back in encouragement. The elf had informed her in broken English that his master thought she’d be safer in the locked room, and if she needed out, she could call for help. 

If Draco thought Hermione would be reduced to such humiliation as to calling him for her freedom, he didn’t know her well at all. No, she would protest by holing away in the oversized room instead. She’d curled up on the couch and read a book about Norwegian Ridgebacks until she’d drifted to sleep. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but if she were to be honest, she was exhausted. Her work, her relationship with Ron, this case… She needed to sleep for a week to finally feel well-rested. 

Once again teenage Draco Malfoy had infiltrated her dreams. He read to her from her favorite Muggle classic, Jane Eyre, as he had so many nights in their sixth year. Of all the Muggle literature he had read to her that year, he always seemed to like it best. There had been a time when Hermione thought it had been a sign that there was more to their meetings. In her naivete, she’d thought it must be significant that her favorite was also his. But of course she’d been wrong. So horribly wrong. 

In their sixth year, when he had finished reading that book to her, she had even given it to him. She wondered if he had it now. 

No, surely he wouldn’t have cherished the gift of a Muggle book. She’d been unaware of the mark he bore when he had read to her - when they had formed what she believed to be a friendship. If she had known… 

A buzzing sound stole her attention away from her memories. Realizing it was her phone, she ran to her bags and shuffled through them until she found it. She had missed a call from Ron, and she quickly redialed. 

“‘Mione?” came the familiar lilt across the line. 

She smiled as she said, “Hello. How was your day, Ronald?”

“Would have been better if you were here.” 

Her breath caught at the romantic notion that he missed her, but it was ruined the moment he added. 

“Honestly, the house is a mess without you.”

She wanted to cry. Was that all she was to him? A glorified maid?

“I’m sure it’s not too bad,” she whispered, hoping the hurt she felt wasn’t evident in her voice. He was always irritated with her whenever she got emotional. 

“I’ve been busy at work, so I guess I haven’t had to worry about being home too much. I can handle it until you’re back.” 

“How has work been?”

“Bloody busy, it’s been. We had a group of witches from America come in for a hen party. They were pissed, but George found it hilarious of course. He sold more WonderWitch products that night than ever before… Though they didn’t need it much. Honestly, you should have seen them.” 

Hermione frowned at the insinuation. Sometimes she wondered if her fiance remembered she was not just one of his best friends; she was the woman he was supposed to cherish and love. And she didn’t particularly care to hear about other women he found attractive. 

“That’s wonderful—”

“Oh! Blimey, I forgot to ask. How’s the sad bloke you’re working with?”

“Still sad,” she groaned, moving back toward the couch. 

“I’m telling you ‘Mione. The girl’s got to be a hag.” 

“That’s not fair…” 

“Where are you?” Ron suddenly asked, changing the subject. Hermione’s heart stopped as she panicked. What was she going to tell Ron? He would be less than happy to find out she was staying in her client’s house. 

“France?” she played stupid. She heard Ron’s hearty laugh and relaxed slightly. 

“Obviously, Hermione, I’m not  _ that _ daft; I just mean your service is cutting in and out.”

“Is it?” she squeaked. She hadn’t considered that technology was interrupted whenever it was in the presence of magic. Her phone must have been reacting to being inside of Draco’s manor. 

“It’s okay, love. I’ll be seeing you in no time. I’ll just let you go.” 

“Oh…” She felt disappointment seep through her; she’d hoped to talk with him more. She fought the feeling that she wasn’t enough to capture his attention. 

“Love you, night.”

“Love you—” 

And he was gone. 

Sighing, she tossed the phone on the carpeted floor.

The strange lull of magic ran through her and stole her breath away. She frowned, puzzled at the odd phenomenon, just as the faint sound of footsteps passed her door. 

She stood and ran to the locked door, pounding on it as she called out, “Draco Malfoy, you let me out!”

She had thought he would pass, ignoring her, but she was proven wrong when she heard his muffled voice from the other side. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

That bastard was smirking, she could hear it in his voice. 

“Let. Me. Out.”

“You Mudbloods have no sense of propriety. Where are your manners, Granger? Or did your mum never teach you to use the word  _ please _ ?” 

She wanted to strangle him, and she would whenever she got out of this damned room. 

“I am a Ministry official…”

“As you keep saying.”

“... and you will not lock me away like a prisoner!”

“You’re free to leave whenever you wish.”

She tried the door handle again to find it still firmly locked. A chuckle came from Draco behind the door. He was playing with her. 

“Say please, Granger.” 

“No.”

“Then you’re not getting out.”

With that, she heard him retreating. 

“Don’t you dare, you prick!” 

“Learn some manners, Mudblood!” was his faint reply. 

Seething, she kicked the door, causing her to cry out in pain. She hadn’t realized how solid it was. 

Immediately the door flew open and Draco was standing, looking faint with worry. 

“What happened?” he demanded, looking her up and down. 

It took a moment for Hermione to realize he was talking about her foot. She blushed, embarrassed. 

“I kicked the door.”

“You... kicked the door?” he asked slowly. 

“You didn’t have to barge in here like some sort of sham knight,” she grumbled. 

He took a step into the room, seemed to think better of it, and stepped back. 

“You’re all right then?”

“I’m fine,” she scowled. Remembering her vow to strangle the idiot in front of her, she lifted her wand. “I should hex you, you know. For locking me up!”

“Do it,” he goaded. 

She wanted to, intended to. Instead, she lowered her wand and placed it back into her pocket sheepishly. 

“Can you at least keep the door unlocked?”

A smile crept onto his face, his features softening in its wake. 

“Are you going to say please like a good girl?”

His rumbling words sent a spike of arousal through her, and she flushed with shock and embarrassment. 

“No,” she told him again, but she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or him. 

“Then it stays locked.”

He turned to leave and she caved. 

“Please?” It seemed to echo in the space between them.

He stopped and turned, his eyes on fire. He stepped further into the room, and then again. She retreated from him, afraid of the way he was looking at her. He backed her into a wall, then took one final step into her space, his wings boxing her in. Leaning close, his lips ghosted her ear as he whispered, “Was that so hard?”

She swallowed thickly but refused to answer. 

He stayed close, his lips pressed to her ear. She felt his nose brush against her neck, and she could have sworn he inhaled deeply before stepping back.

As he stepped away, she instinctively began to follow - and then remembered who he was, and stopped.

“Don’t you dare do that again, Malfoy, or I’m leaving - and I won’t come back!”

“That’s the plan, Granger,” he told her. The smile on his face might have been sad, but before she could study his expression, he had turned and left the room.

She touched her fingers to the shell of her ear and shivered; she swore she could still feel his breath against her. 

Her eyes drifted to the door where she’d watched him retreat, and she allowed herself to wonder…

What would those lips feel like somewhere else?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My wonderful beta has created a playlist on [Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6QXuB1zYaSprynZPLCL5pP?si=EEgb2Am2QhmjtybdhdezhQ&nd=1) if you would like to listen! 
> 
> Follow me on:
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**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't have done this without my amazing beta reader and new friend [MyPrivateInsanity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyPrivateInsanity?fbclid=IwAR0Edd64CTlcu9FGbYzDe5hV9nOFEC_iegzZ2iJwMEaDh5dKEkArJV6p-eY) !! If you haven't read her stuff yet, you need to!! I owe the world to her! 
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> Check me out on:
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> Twitter @brylobren   
> Tumblr: @ brittany4824  
> Instagram: @bdwebbart


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